The Outcast
by Dbz Chicka
Summary: On planet earth, one man seems to stand alone against the tidle wave of hatred. Can he get away from this planet to start a new life free of contempt, or will he be stuck on Earth forever with no hope of freedom? Please R
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, trademarks, catch phrases, copywrited items, names, products, brands, monkeys, or even the own clothes on my back. Just kidding about the last part, but you catch my drift.**

Hello people...Been a long _LONG_ long long time since I've done any writings at all, and er, sorry about the college story sort of...well...dying, but MAYBE if I ever get the enthusiasm to finish it, I'll do so. Maybe. You ask why am I back? Well to make a boring story short, I just suddenly was struck with inspiration for a new story. That's all. -Shrug-

So, here it goes, and I hope everyone enjoys. Sorry if the first chapter goes a little slowly, but you know how first chapters go sometimes.

---  
**Chapter One**

It was another gray day. Not that he minded them, but they always seemed to be a reminder of his constantly bleak mood. He shivered a bit and sat up from the dry dusty earth, adjusting his coat some. He lifted his hand to touch his face. He couldn't feel it. He didn't need to remove the gloves he was wearing, for the fingers were all missing. They had been full gloves at one point, but that was a long time ago and he couldn't remember when that had been. He slowly stood and stretched his stiff and slightly sore body. He was accostomed to waking up feeling this way, and in a matter of minutes he was walking down the street, preforming what he liked to call his "monotonous daily ritual."

He was bundled up considerably, wearing slightly torn and extremely worn clothes he had had for what seemed to be decades. He remembered vividly how he had used to wear the finest of suits and specialy tailored clothing. But now he lived on Earth. If you could consider it living. He could never hope to be allowed such luxuries here. He walked on not letting his mind reminesce too far, for that never helped his mood brighten. Not like it was ever bright in the first place. He made his mind focus on breakfast. Where to find it today? His stomach growled almost angrily at him, as if scolding him for ever moving to this forsaken planet. Or rather, this planet that had forsaken him.

As he walked down the cold street, near the heart of the city, he didn't watch the cars and people passing him, but could feel their eyes following him, each gaze burning him with pure scorn and hatred. He wondered how a race of people could be so stupid and close-minded. It wasn't him who had committed such acts of horror years ago. He brushed off the glares carelessly walking onward. He never was much into people who clung to stereotypes. He continued walking, not exactly with pride, but he did not use his frazzled scarf to hide his green skin. He was not ashamed for something he did not do, and wasn't going to fear this race of idiots. If it had been his choice he would of never came here...but unfortunately choices are hardly given and only neccisary actions must be taken.

Turning into a deserted alley, he walked to the back of a small family-owned restaraunt, one of the few that had managed not to be swallowed by the huge franchize restaraunt businesses. Yet. He knocked on the worn door, riddled with graffiti from some punk idiot kids who had nothing better to do than write obsenities on random buildings. A moment later it opened, and a smiling face of an older man with a Mario-style mustache greeted him.

"Piccolo! How are you today my friend? Come into the kitchen, it's cold out there!" He beckoned the bundled man inside. The kitchen was indeed warm and smelled richly of freshly baked bread and other foods.

"Here here," The man said bustling about on the oven, "Have this, it's your favorite!" Piccolo smiled as the man heaped a large portion of the pot's contents onto a clean plate and set it on the small table with two chairs. They both sat and Piccolo ate gratefully. The cook set a glass of fresh milk infront of him as well.

"It's delicious, as always," Piccolo smiled softly, continuing to eat humbly and with as much manners as he could maintain. It was hard not to just inhale the delicious meal in a matter of seconds, but he was taught to always eat slowly and mannerfully. This man deserved his gratitude. Piccolo finished and watched the man as he got up to tend to some breakfast orders that had just come in. _'I suppose not all men are bastards on this planet...He's a prime example.'_ As he stood and brought his plate to the sink the man asked him how he was doing.

"Piccolo, really, come and stay with us! It is of no trouble to my wife, she would love your company, and the children--"

"Don't like me." Piccolo chuckled a bit at this fact. The kids had always been somewhat scared of the large framed man with the strange green skin, but he was used to it. He didn't really like kids much anyways. "No, it's fine, trust me. Thank you for the offer, but I need to get going again." He hated rejecting the kind cook's humble offer for shelter and kindness, but he knew that such an act would bring scorn upon his name and whole family. Afterall any Namekian-lover was looked at as a "Devil-lover." Piccolo would never bring that upon the loved man and good father. Again he thanked him for the meal and departed from the warm kitchen, the chill of the early morning air hitting him full in the face, as if it were his misery greeting him again. It's not like Piccolo "needed" to get going anywhere, but to stay too long was always a bad idea, incase some onlooker peeked into the kitchen and saw him.

He continued aimlessly down the street, crowded with honking cars trapped in the morning commute traffic. Though the street was full he felt, as always, completely alone.

---

Bulma yawned as she looked out her car window at the dim appearance of the city. The warm coffee in her hand did little to wake her senses. Her sleepy eyes travelled over the cars infront of her, as she stood at a standstill in traffic. She was used to it by now, and didn't mind since she had the radio, or her built-in tv monitor to keep her entertained. The cold was no match for her state of the art heater, and she felt warm and content inside her car, not frustraited at all by the bustle of traffic. Her eyes glanced lazily out the window once more, filtering over the walking people on the sidewalks, in large crowds, all disconected from one another, their eyes fixed on the ground and their minds obviously elsewhere. Her gaze suddenly focused on one of the never ceasing figures. It followed him, his clothes especially ratty compared to the expensive suits and winter coats that surrounded him. But then she realized what had really caught her attention. The bright green of his skin flashed from time to time as an opening in the passing people created a window, making him visible. His eyes were shadowed by his cap.

_'There he is again...'_ She thought slowly, her eyes still keeping track of him. The car infront of her finally moved a bit to allow her some room to pull forward. He passed by again. She had always seen this man, nearly every day during her routine commute. She had seen him other places as well, which seemed to be an amazing thing to her, in such a huge city as this. She knew he had no home, for he always wore the same clothes, and she had even caught sight of him once under a small bridge that she had taken home once, as a scenic route, late one night. The fire had caught her eye. Bulma frowned a bit as he disappeared from sight once more. _'Poor guy...'_ She thought. She wished she could help him. She would gladly give him money, but she was scared to approach him. She had noticed that he never sat with signs that plead for help, but only saw him wandering continuously. She knew he must want help, but was scared to advertise it. Most human homeless people were not scorned for doing so, but in his case it was extremely likely that passerbyers would do the opposite of help, if it was a Namekian.

Though she knew the reason of his homelessness, she couldn't help but feel sympathy for the green man. She knew Namekians were almost always denied work, thus they could never afford living arrangements, or hardly anything else. Bulma knew the story behind the hatred of the Namekian race, but wondered why such a thing had to carry over to the ancestors who were innocent of any crime. It was impossible for her to grasp why this man would even stay on this planet. It was extremely unusual to see them here anymore, though she had, very seldomly, seen a couple of other green skinned outcasts. But that had been years ago, when she was only a child. She looked forward through her windsheild. Now she was a full-grown woman, married, even with children.

Shaking her head she pulled forward again, glancing at the clock. Her mind drifted again to other thoughts. Her mind slipped from the thoughts of the man, cursing as she knew she would be late for her meeting, and another thousand thoughts rushed into her head...pushing the thought of the downtrodden man into the very back of her mind.

---

Goku swept the porch of the small shop busily, his mood content as usual, though he didn't seem to be exactly happy either. His family wasn't exactly getting rich off the tiny pawn shop, but it brought in enough to pay the bills and put food on the table. He hummed to cheer himself a bit and looked up and greeted the people as they passed. They had been lucky to get a shop on this busy street. The old location had been back in the worst of neighborhoods, next to gun stores and liquer shops. He had been glad to move his store and his family away from the violence that occured frequently there.

"Hey Goku." A deep, somewhat husky voice sent chills through the spikey-haired man's spine, snapping him out of his thoughts abruptly and making him spin to face the one who had addressed him.

"Piccolo!" Goku's face seemed to light up with the prospect of a familiar face, no matter how green, and even more at the prospect of company. "Come in, let's have some hot cocoa, I bet the water I put on is almost to a boil by now!"

Piccolo smiled grimly at the man's excitment of his arrival. He was always amused by the thought that anyone would be happy to see him. It reminded him of some kind of spastic puppy who was excited when company came over. He followed Goku into the little store, shabby but neat. It had a homey feel to it, the little antique figurines and glass peices on display on the shelves set out carefully with almost a loving touch and intentful placement, as one might do in their own home. Piccolo passed the variety of items on sale into the back of the shop after Goku, his hands still inside his pockets. The water pot was whistling angrily as they moved into the small office, that had been turned halfways into tiny living quaters. The small loveseat was draped with a hand knitted blanket, and a small pillow. A little mini fridge was pressed next to that, and crammed in the corner was a tiny old-fashioned stove-pipe oven, and next to it a small pile of firewood and newspapers. Across from that end of the room was a desk, covered in bills and receipts, as well as catalogues, record books, and checks. Piccolo didn't mind the mess, he even liked it compared to his "living arrangements" under the bridge.

Goku grabbed the steaming pot and poured the hot water into two mugs he grabbed from the top of the fridge and dumped two tablespoons of store-bought cocoa mix into each one. He stuck a coffee stirrer into each and handed Piccolo a mug. "Here ya go." He grinned and sat in his desk chair, stirring his own cocoa happily. Piccolo took a seat on Goku's make-shift bed and did the same. This is the way they always sat, across from each other in the warm little room. They both took long sips of the warming sweet fluid.

"Thank you." Piccolo said softly, setting the empty mug down a minute later. He leaned back, comfortable in the small room. "So tell me, how is your family doing?"

"Oh, good..." Goku said with a smile that wasn't fully convincing, "Chi-Chi's working pretty hard at two jobs to help with Gohan. You know, school books, lunch money, clothes, stuff like that...But Gohan's doing great in school, his grades are amazing." Goku brightened at these last words, an obvious hint of pride and respect breaking into his tone. "At this rate if we save wisely, he'll be able to go to college when he graduates high school!" He himself never had done well in school, or gone to college. Piccolo wasn't sure if he had even managed to graduate high school. "We still have a ways to go, but it'll be okay, because we have time. He's only in the 5th grade afterall."

"I'm sure he'll be a whiz in college." Piccolo smirked and closed his eyes. Out of all the kids he'd met, Gohan was one of the only one's he somewhat liked. This was probably only because Gohan didn't seem to shrink in fear at the sight of him. In fact, he even seemed to admire Piccolo and even look up to him.

"So how have things been for you, Piccolo?" Goku asked kindly, though he seemed to hesitate a little, as if asking the question might be stepping onto thin ice.

"Not any better than usual." Piccolo answered truthfully, but the question didn't seem to hit any sensitive spots. He was pretty sure he didn't even have any of those lkeft anymore. "Same old same old." He shrugged carelessly.

"Oh, well...um..that's good, I think." Goku replied, looking sheepish. There was a small pause, which felt uncomfortable to Goku, but Piccolo didn't mind it at all, seeming comfortable where he was and enjoying the warmth of the room. Goku finally broke it, tenderly, "Hey uh, Piccolo...you know, if Chi-Chi and I just tighten up on some things you could stay with us for sure, it wouldn't be a problem at all."

Piccolo stayed silent, completely unresponsive to this offer. Goku prodded further, "I mean, Gohan loves you and we would like to have you with us, even if the apartment is a bit crowded, you could always stay in here atleast--"

"Goku," The green man didn't move but cut him off sternly, but not with an angry attitude, "Thank you for offering, but I'd never put your family through such hell. I really appreciate it, and you're a good friend to offer such hospitality, but I have to refuse."

His spikey headed friend frowned deeply and reapprocahed, "But really, it wouldn't--"

"Yes it would." Piccolo said blankly. "You don't want Gohan to get the reputation of "Devil-lover"...that might even effect his chances of getting into college." He sighed lightly stretching. "And besides, I don't want to be a freeloader. I can't get work and if I couldn't pay my own rent I would feel too guilty. Gohan is already enough for you to take care of."

"But it wouldn't be a problem--"

"Goku...Thanks, but no thanks. It's an offer I just can't accept..." Piccolo stood slowly, somewhat reluctantly.

"Wait, please, stay a while longer, I didn't want to offend you...I just worry sometimes...about you."

Piccolo looked to his friend and a small but unhappy smile spread across his lips, "It's nice to know you care, but don't burden yourself with it. I guess I can stay a while longer." He stretched a bit and chuckled somewhat, sitting again, the last phrase lightening the mood considerably. He pulled the small coffee table weded between the loveseat and the wall out and set it between them. "I have just enough time in my busy schedual for a few rounds of poker." Piccolo smirked. Goku grinned happily and scooted his chair closer, pulling out a deck of cards from his pocket so fast they had seemed to appear in his hand by his own will alone.

It was dark when Piccolo finally left. Goku had pleaded for him to stay the night in the office to keep warm, and that he would be quiet when he worked at his desk. He'd even do it by candelight. But Piccolo denied the offer yet again. He decided it was better for the both of them for him to sleep where he usually slept, and for Goku to get his work done quickly so he could get home to his family without him being in the way. He headed for the small bridge, the night air not as cold as usual, but of course never warm either. He felt that tonight would be another night of lying awake with his thoughts. But most nights were like that. He walked along the hollow and now empty streets, only the occasional souless car passing by quickly, as if afraid slowing down might give him enough time to notice them. Like driving slow might be a sign that they were willing to help. And that was never the case.

Piccolo always noticed them, but noticing and caring are two different things.

---

Well the first chapter, dun dun dun! Hope it wasn't too boring, I was "Setting the Stage" as my history teacher likes to call it. Anyways hope you all liked it, let me know what you think!

Oh, and sorry for the shortness, but just think of this as the sort of "Prelude" to the story. Eheh.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** **See Chapter One**

**Chapter Two**

_**A/N:**_ (Author's Note, incase you didn't already know) Just a note before we start off. The ages in this fic are inaccurate according to the "real" DBZ universe. Goten and Trunks are both about 8, while Gohan is only 11. I just wanted a young Gohan in the fic, instead of the teen one. I don't particularly like Teen-Gohan's character. Eheh. Well that's it, just was giving you a heads up! Enjoy the chapter.  
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Bulma stretched as she advanced from her house into the gerage, toward her car. She loved Sundays. Backing out of the gerage, the sunlight greeted her. She smiled at this, since the weather as of late had been cloudy and wet. She hummed as she started down the street away from her huge three story home, located behind the Capsule Corporation industry and invention buildings. Sundays were the best days to run errands. Sometimes she attended church, but today she was rather busy and didn't feel like trying to drag Vegeta out of bed to go with her, or deal with the fuss of making her 8 year old son, Trunks, get dressed nicely.

She looked about thinking of how beautiful the world appeared to her today. The roads weren't very busy at all, being the "Day of Rest." Most people were home doing just that, sleeping in or enjoying their last day of the weekend. Others were all at church. The list of her "to do" priorities rushed through her head. First she needed to get to the bank.

Bulma turned onto the highway, hardly recognizing it, since it was usually cram-packed with cars by this time. She always took this road on the way to her morning commute. But today it was nearly empty of activity. She didn't see even one person walking. Bulma sped up to the limit heading for the main heart of the city. Bulma blinked seeing a lone figure appear suddenly next to the highway. She recognized him immediately. As she passed his eyes lifted, looking in her direction. As she watched in amazement, his gaze met and followed her own, sending a slight chill down her spine. But soon their eye contact was broken as her car sped past him. She looked forward again feeling oddly frazzled.

But soon Bulma forgot about it, or tried to. She got caught up in a song in the radio, easily and almost willingly. After finishing her buisiness at the bank, she drove to her favorite shopping center, the central mall of the city. Sunday mornings were always nice for shopping since most people weren't out, and today she didn't feel like dealing with the large crowds that usually were there on most days, especially Saturday. Never the less, the green man and all thoughts of him soon disapated from her mind with the distractions of her own life.

A couple of hours later, she was checking out from her last shopping trip in her favorite clothing store, when her cell phone rang, with it's catchy ringtone. She appologized to the clerk who shrugged as they swiped her credit card, and Bulma punched in her pin and signed the receipt habitually, glancing at her cell phone's I.D. before answering it. It was her husband. She flipped it open and rested the phone on her shoulders as she gathered her bags and thanked the clerk, heading toward the exit of the shop.

"Vegeta?" She asked, distractedly, "Thanks again--" she bid the clerk goodbye turning and heading out the shop entrance, "What is it hun?"

"Where are you?" His tone was miffed--which was familiar to Bulma's ears.

"Shopping," she said indifferently. "I'm done, I'm just heading to my car."

"Good, Trunks is driving me insane. He woke me up by jumping onto my stomach...when I walked into the kitchen this morning the place was wrecked. I think he ate a cup of pure sugar for breakfast, literally, because the bag's spilled open on the table and his favorite bowl is half full of it." Bulma could imagine the visible throbbing of the vain in her husband's temple as he spoke with resignated anger. She sighed slightly.

"Don't worry, I'll be home soon. Just try and calm him down." Vegeta snorted at this suggestion and hung up. She mumbled angrily snapping her phone shut and reached her car a moment later, using the beeper button to unlock it. She loaded her bags into the backseat and got in, starting the engine. She soon was back on the highway heading toward Capsule Corp. She turned into the correct exit which bled onto a more residential street, causing her to slow her speed. And that's when she saw him again, for the second time today in a time span of not even three hours. He was bent over a trash can which was emmiting flames, his fingerless-gloved hands held over the warm fire. Bulma slowed as she passed, but he didn't look up at her. She continued on, swallowing slightly...she felt a sudden pang of guilt as she realized their different situations. She was almost to the last street she needed to turn onto which led to her home, when a sudden urge stopped her. Bulma pulled to the side of the road thoughtfully...If only she could do something...

With a sudden inspiration to help out a poor man in need, she backed up and turned around, heading back to where the green man stood huddled over the trashcan. She slowly pulled over. He still didn't look up. She watched him almost in amazement, almost afraid. She needed to get his attention but she was scared to get out of the car. Afterall she was a woman with no weapon. She then unrolled her window and fumbled with her wallet nervously. Bulma unclipped the money pocket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill, snapping it shut once more. She looked at him hoping he would notice her on his own and come over, but he seemed to be completely oblivious to her nearness.

Finally, she seemed to draw the courage to speak. "Um, Excuse me. Sir?"

Piccolo lifted his eyes directly to her's. He didn't look surprised at her being parked on the side of the street parallel to him. Instead he looked almost as if he had been aware of her being there all along, almost as if he had been wishing she would of left if he had ignored her. Even though Bulma sensed this, she didn't back down.

"Ahem..." she hesitated, wanting to find the politest words. "Please come over here for a moment."

Piccolo stood still for a moment. His eyes sifted over her exposed frame, unable to see all of her, but able to read her face. He stood straight with the air of doing as she asked just to humor her. He walked over wordlessly, his gait easy and completely uneffected by nerves or hesitation. He looked down at her, not bending to look curiously into her luxurious car. He simply stood silently, his hands relaxed in his pockets, waiting for her to complete whatever it was she was planning to do.

"Look," Bulma started again, obviously trying to bolster herself up to be stern, even against his strangely intimidating attitude, "it looks like you could use some help. Now, I'll give you some money if you swear not to go and spend it on things like booze, drugs, or cigarettes...use it to get something good for yourself, something that will last. You understand me?" She held up the hundred dollar bill, just above the open window.

Piccolo bent down to look into the window at her face more closely. He reached up and took the bill lightly from her, looking away from her face for a moment to glance over the money. He then looked back up to her and smirked slightly, an odd smile that sent he same chills that had rushed down Bulma's spine when he had made eyecantact with her on the highway. It wasn't a smile of thanks or gratitude, in face it was a sarcastic grin that seemed to mock her random act of kindness. Suddenly he made a sharp movement that made her jump, and Bulma was shocked as she realized he had thrown the bill back in her face.

"Thanks lady, but I don't want your money. I rather have your respect." He stood straight again and turned his back to her. As Bulma watched him in surprise, the bill lying in her lap where it had fallen, she realized he didn't even look angry. In fact he looked completely unphased; not even annoyed. This is what surprised her the most. And angered her. She twitched, feeling that this was rude, when she felt she was just trying to help. "Well no wonder you're in such a bad situation if you're a jerk to everyone that tries to help you!" She quickly drove forward and turned around, heading back speedily in the direction of her house, fuming. Piccolo didn't even look up from the trash can or retort to her outburst. He really didn't care.

Bulma noticed her grip on her steeringwheel was unusually firm as she drove down the street toward her house. She breathed in a deep breath and sighed it out again to calm herself, loosening her fingers on the wheel. She pulled into the gerage and closed her eyes mumbling to herself. She got out and grabbed her newly purchased treasures and walked into the house, saying under her breath, "What an ass."

She entered the kitchen, her heels seeming to click indignantly on the tiled floor. She blinked as she was hit with the realization that her kitchen was completely wrecked. She looked around, feeling her already stimulated anger escalate to an even higher scale. Sugar was scattered from the bag on the table like sand, half of it on the floor. The fridge was left open and the counters were covered with smashed eggs, the empty carton open on the floor. Chocolate syrup and ice cream were left out on the middle of the floor, both spread liberally on the floor around, and hardly any of it in, a bowl. Sprinkles were scattered inside the mess, making it a colorful sticky arangement to fuel her anger.

Bulma stormed into the livingroom and dropped her shopping bags on the clean carpet, kicking her now sticku-bottomed heels off ahead of time in the kitchen. She was even madder that Vegeta had seen the mess and had made no attempt whatsoever to clean any of it himself. Sunday was the maid's day off, so it meant she had to do it herself. The least he could of done was put up the melting ice cream or something. "VEGETA! TRUNKS!" She yelled looking around in rage. "COME HERE RIGHT NOW!"

Vegeta walked down the stairs looking bored. He dragged a squirming reluctant Trunks behind him by the back of the collar of his shirt. He reached the bottom of the stairs and dropped Trunks infront of the fuming woman. He swallowed and looked up to meet her gaze timidly. Bulma crossed her arms with authority, growling low. "Trunks, you are going to help clean up that mess in the kitchen right now. And furthermore you can't have any friends over or go to a friend's house for a week. You're also grounded from video games and TV for a week. Got it?"

Trunks' face turned from a look of fear to an expression of idignity. "WHAT? But Mom that's not fair at all!" He stood up, looking angry now, "You already said I could go to Goten's house after school tomorrow! And we had plans to go to the beach and everything!"

"Well you're the one who decided to wreck the kitchen for fun, and that's your punishment, so you only have yourself to blame." Bulma said closing her eyes and lifting her chin resiliantly into the air.

Trunks growled, "MOM!" Vegeta smacked his son suddenly across the back of the head, causing the boy to grab his head. "HEY!"

"Listen to your mother, brat." He said. He looked to Bulma, expecting to be met with an approving look. Instead he blinked in surprise as his wife suddenly turned on him.

"And YOU--!" She growled basically pushing past Trunks to jab Vegeta angrily in the chest with her finger. Trunks took this opportunity to flee upstairs to his room, leacing only Vegeta to be yelled at. "You don't do one dman thing about the mess in the kitchen and expect ME to clean the whole thing? Well you're WRONG!"

---

Piccolo sat watching Gohan study vigorously at the small desk shoved into the small livingroom of the apartment. He had said no time and time again, but finally agreed to come to Goku's for dinner. He could hear Chi-Chi busy in the kitchen, and Goku was down at the shop trying to get some last minute paperwork done. He wasn't sure where the smaller son, Goten was. He liked Goten well enough, but the small boy seemed to be somewhat scared and shy around him. He also had had a bad experience with him and his little bratty friend. Piccolo tried to vaguely remember his name, but only could remember that it started with a "T" and was very unusual. Despite what his name was, Piccolo knew one thing for sure, and that was that the kid was a little spoiled brat. He seemed almost the opposite of the innocent Goten, who was always polite and well-behaved...on his own.

But whenever the pair got together it was as if the other kid took over and had enough curiosity and troublemaking skills for the both of them. What had happened was the little brat and Goten had played an "innocent" prank on him. Goten was probably still scared of him from that day, which would explain his absense. Piccolo had fallen asleep on the couch in the livingroom of the Son apartment, one time when he was sick and Goku insisted he stay inside till he got better. Thankfully the Namekian had gotten over the worst of his under the weather feelings, and was merely exhausted from the entire ordeal. Usually he was a very light sleeper, but this particular time he had been completely out of it.

It was as if the little purple-haired bugger had known this, too.

While he was asleep, the boys tied his antennae together. When he awoke, he realized his antennae were hurting vaguely, and as he sat up he noticed his reflection in the glass coffee table infront of the couch. Seeing what had happened he twitched in anger, and immediately began to attempt to untie the knot. This was, needless to say, excruiciatingly painful. By the time he finally disattatched them, he was enraged. Finding the boys snickering under the kitchen table, he promtly pulled them both out from under the tablecloth and yelled at them till they were most likely deaf. After he dropped them to the floor they both ran for their lives to Goten and Gohan's small room.

Piccolo shook his head at the memory. He was glad Goahn was older and more mature. He was surprised at the 11-year-old's maturity. He was a cute kid, and playful enough, but when it came to school and real life situations, he was like a 18-year-old in a child's body. He knew that grades were important for his future, and he even did little odd jobs that he could find to help his family's financial situation. It wasn't that the Son's were in EXTREME poverty, but they were a family that had to work constantly to survive. However their apartment was nice enough, though small. Piccolo himself found it cozy and homey, like Goku's antique store. It was old, but kept neat and tidy and in rather good condition by Chi-Chi.

Piccolo wasn't sure exactly how he felt about Chi-Chi. She was nice most times, but he noticed she had a firey temper, and also seemed to push Gohan very hard in school. Which wasn't neccisarily a bad thing...but Piccolo felt the poor kid's childhood was being wasted away with worries of the future. Chi-Chi didn't seem to exactly like him, as if he was a bad influence to her son, and a distraction from his family and studies. And he knew the thought of her child hanging around a homeless hobo who was a reject from society because of his race's horrible history wasn't exactly a positive factor in her eyes.

Piccolo snapped out of his thoughts as the door swung open and Goku entered, looking tired but happy to be home. Piccolo greeted him and Gohan grinned and got up. "Hey dad!" Goku smiled and nodded to Piccolo and walked to Gohan, ruffling his hair."Hey kiddo, how's your homework going?"

"Good, I just finished." Gohan replied. "Mom said dinner will be ready any minute."

"Good, I'm starved! Hey, where's Goten?"

"Uhm, I think he's in our room."

"Ah, well go and get him and tell him dinner's ready."

"'Kay!" Gohan disappeared down the small hallway to retreive his younger sibling.

Goku turned to Piccolo and shook his hand warmly, "Good to see you, buddy. Glad you came. How are you doing?"

"Good, considering." Piccolo replied, shaking his friends' hand.

"Dinner's ready!" Chi-Chi's voice rang from the little kitchen, somewhat demandingly. Piccolo watched as Gohan emerged from the hall, his little brother, which was his father's little look-alike, tailing closely behind him, seeming to try and half-hide himself from the green man's gaze. They all walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table, which wasn't tiny, but rather small, and crowded with food, plates, and silverwear. Piccolo bowed his head respectively as the family said their supper time prayer, feeling awkward and out of place. But after the "amen" was pronounced, he felt himself untense and relax. It was good to have friends, even if they were few.

---

Finally the kitchen was spotless again. Trunks was pouting angrily at his situation, as if he had been forced into child-labor. Vegeta was acting grouchy as well. He felt housework was a woman's job. He tossed the mop and bucket back into the closet and walked out of the room grumbling. Trunks watched his father leave and turned to Bulma, with the most innocent face that it was possible for him to muster.

"Mommy..." Bulma looked down to her son, crossing her arms. "I'm really sorry about messing up the kitchen. Please can I go to Goten's tomorrow?"

"I said no already, Trunks." She mumbled turning away ready to go take a shower. She was filthy with a mixture of dirt and sugar and felt sticky.

"But MOM..." Trunks whined following after her. "I have all my stuff ready and everything! You promised!"

"That was before you got yourself into trouble. Now stop pestering, understand?" She walked up the stairs. Trunks still persisted.

"Mooommy, pleeeease. I'll be good and make up the day, I promise!" He pleaded. He blinked, almost running to her as she stopped abruptly in the upstairs hallway and turned to him, fire in her blue eyes.

"Do you want me to have your father give you a spanking?"

"What!" Trunks blinked and immediately shook his head, frowning. "NO!"

"Then stop asking. You're grounded and that's it." She walked into her and Vegeta's bedroom without another word and shut the door. Trunks growled at being denied what he wanted. Usually his mother gave in when he whined and begged, but this time he must of really pushed her too far. Or something else had made her have a bad day, and this had been the icing on the cake. He let out a frustrated yell and walked to his room slamming to door shut to announce his anger.

Bulma heard this but ignored it. Vegeta was sitting on the bed watching TV. She passed him walking to the bathroom, feeling his eyes follow her. She thought drily, _'If you think you're getting anything today, you can think again.'_ She shut the bathroom door crisply making sure the sound of the lock turning was easily heard. As she washed away the grime of the kitchen her mind wandered over other things. Oddly enough it turned back to the source of her bad mood. That green guy...She mumbled as she lathered her hair with shampoo and said aloud, "What a jerk. I was just trying to help him..."

Bulma rinsed her hair clean, and as she did so, her anger seemed to rinse away from her mind with the shampoo. "I guess it was disrespectful to accuse him of using it to go buy alcohol or something like that with it..." She mumbled feelingher frustrationflare up a little again. "But still I was trying to help." As she turned this over in her mind it occured to her that maybe she could help in a better way tham give him money. She picked up the soap, thinking of how dirty and grimy he had looked. "I bet it's been ages since he's had a shower or a nice warm bath...probably hasn't even slept in a real bed in months..." Bulma frowned at this thought. She felt so sorry for the guy, even if his race had that history...

She blinked feeling another shock of inspiration. "Hey, what if I let him stay here for a little while...get him cleaned up and maybe help him get a job...Hell I could hire him." She thought this over more deeply. Mabe it wasn't a good idea to let some guy in off the street and stay in your home. Yet Vegeta was there to protect them. He'd be able to deal with him if he started trouble. If she could just get him onto his feet untill he had enough money to rent a place of his own, maybe he'd be able to become a productive and accepted member of society. She grinned at her genius and shut off the water, stepped out and drying off herself briskly with a towel.

She walked out of the bathroom wrapped in the towel, humming happily to herself. Vegeta blinked and lifted a brow at this changed mood. "What made you do a 360 all of the sudden?" He asked, watching her walk to the dresser.

"Nothing, just have a new idea for something." She said shortly, getting dressed. She knew it wuld probably be a bad idea to tell this suggestion to Vegeta...she knew for a fact he didn't like Namekians in general, but if she got him over here and trapped Vegeta in the situation, she knew he'd get over it. He might be even more grouchy than usual for a while, but she knew it would all be for the better in the end. She primped her freshly blow-dried hair in the mirror with a grin.

_'I'm a genius.'_

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Well there's chapter 2! Hope you guys liked it. I bet you're all curious about what the Namekain race's "bad history" is. Well I promisfe I'll let you guys know in chapter 3! Thanks for reading!


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